


Meet the Lovers

by AestheticRose



Category: None - Fandom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-02
Updated: 2018-05-02
Packaged: 2019-05-01 06:04:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14514117
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AestheticRose/pseuds/AestheticRose
Summary: Falling in love hurts, but you would walk through hell for her.





	Meet the Lovers

She was your sun, and you were her moon. Thousands of millions of miles apart, and yet still beautiful, still dependent upon each other. 

You were like everyone else you see passing in the street, at least, so they would think. 

Let's start at the beginning, before I get you lot confused. (I'm an expert on that. I've got the words, I've got the ideas, and the lips to say the words, but they never seem to come out precisely how I want them…)

You live in two separate worlds, with two separate lives, but when those lives collided, they lit up the night sky. 

Shall I introduce you? Yes? Alrightie then. 

The girl won't tell you her name. Names are powerful things.. Names can destroy, and names can build up. Names can lie, and names can tell the bitter truth. Names are very dangerous… All of her books warn her of the dangers of names, and they've never been wrong once. So, you may call her Rose. It's not her true name, but it fits her spectacularly.

Her cheeks are rosey red when you tease her, and her lips a deep pink when she nibbles on them, caught up in her story. You've always adored her indescisive hair, in the summer a golden blonde, catching the evening starlight in it's strands, and in the winter, a rich brown, always caught up in a bun, strands framing the girl’s face. 

When you first managed to look her in the eye, you couldn't decide what color they should be. After a while, you both agreed on a light grey edging the center, a deep blue in the middle, a bit of chestnut rimming the outside, and emeral in the middle. 

She isn't a model, that's certain. But nor is she an apple. Rose is a small girl, slightly shorter then the typical 18 year old standard. Her hips are sharp at the widest point, but curve softly down into her thighs, speckled with freckles. Her waist, at its thinnest, isn't exactly skinny , nor wide. It eternally annoys the girl, waistlines either too baggy, or too tight. But secretly you love it. No one else in the world has a waistline just like hers, and it is beautiful. Her fingers are constantly black, covered in ink from her newspapers, books, and pens ever so often taking up her hands. The girl almost never paints her nails, knowing they'll just rub off on her teeth, a nasty habit of chewing on her fingernails picked up when she was young. 

She isn't perfect, but you love her. And she loves you. Sometimes it shocks you just how lucky you are to have found such a beautiful girl in such a dump of a life.

Now we won't just talk about the girl, we must at least tell the readers a bit about you. 

Yes I know you don't like your body. We're telling them anyway. 

Oh pfft. 

You are stunning my dear. 

You've always hated your body, how bony your fingers are, how crooked your nose is, how many freckles dot your cheeks. But she loves every bit of you. She says your fingers are slender and elegant, as she places kisses on each tip. And your nose is perfectly unique to you, making it yours, therefore handsome, stated as she nuzzles it affectionately, beaming up at you. And your freckles my dear, are constellations against your skin. They bring out the best in you, mentioned as she leans against your chest, tracing patterns in your skin with her light airy touches. 

You've got tan skin for living in Florida for so long, and even with the 17 years of desperate sun bathing, your hair still hasn't bleached from an obnoxious dirty blond. (Don't be silly, she sooths, twirling an odd strand around her finger, tugging lightly. Your hair is sunlight through the trees, honey drizzled over a hot brownie on a cold winter day.)

You are short, just like her, and about the same height, slightly annoying to you that you can't reach things for her. But she lets you get them anyway, with her arms loose around your waist.

Her favourite part of your body is your eyes, she says. They are a mix of green and blue, resulting in a shocking combination of turquoise. She loves it when you wear a baby blue shirt, because it makes your eyes pop, she informs you, curled up sleepily in your arms.

She loves you. 

And she isn't letting you go.


End file.
